The Great Hall was chaos incarnate. Shadows writhed across the walls like living creatures, their forms shifting unnaturally as eldritch energy pulsed through the air. The chandelier above swayed violently, casting fractured light over the scene below. Erik stood at the heart of the storm, his blade drawn, its edge flickering with the prismatic energy that hummed through him. Across the room, Greydawn’s silhouette was a dark smear against the gilded opulence, his aura crackling with the suffocating weight of the void.

“Still standing, Marlowe?” Greydawn sneered, his voice cutting through the din like a blade. “Impressive. But you’ll need more than posturing to survive.”

Erik didn’t answer. His crimson-tinged gaze swept the room, taking in the twisting forms of the eldritch beings that had once been the Governor’s guards and servants. Their grotesque shapes loomed and swayed, glowing eyes fixed on him with malevolent intent. Behind Erik, Vesper and Berndhardt were already moving, their weapons flashing in the chaotic light as they engaged the monsters.

“Keep them busy,” Erik said over his shoulder, his voice calm but commanding.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Vesper shot back, her blade igniting with a brilliant blue light as she dove into the fray. Beside her, Berndhardt let out a battle cry, his massive axe cleaving through an eldritch construct that lunged toward him.

Erik’s focus returned to Greydawn.

“Come, Marlowe,” Greydawn taunted, his voice a silken mockery. “Show me what the last of a Forsaken can do.”

Erik surged forward, his sword flashing as he closed the distance between them. Greydawn met him with a snarl, his dagger igniting with eldritch energy. Their weapons collided with a deafening crack, sending shockwaves through the hall. The floor beneath them buckled, cracks spidering outward as their auras clashed.

“You think you’ve mastered that power of yours?” Greydawn hissed, his movements fluid as he twisted away from Erik’s strike. “You’re just a puppet, Marlowe. Dancing on strings you can’t even see.”

Erik’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Funny,” he said, sidestepping an eldritch tendril that lashed out from Greydawn’s aura. “I was about to say the same thing about you.”

He pressed the attack, his movements precise and relentless. His prismatic blade carved through the air, leaving trails of shimmering light that clashed violently against Greydawn’s dark energy. But Greydawn was inhumanly fast and each of Erik’s strikes was met with a counter, a flicker of eldritch power that threatened to overwhelm him.

“You’re out of your depth,” Greydawn said, his voice a low growl as he drove Erik back with a flurry of strikes. “You don’t even understand what you are.”

“Maybe not,” Erik admitted, his gaze locked on Greydawn. “But I know enough.”

He let his prismatic core surge, the energy flooding his body with a brilliance that forced Greydawn to step back, shielding his eyes from the blinding light. Erik didn’t hesitate. He swung his blade in a wide arc, the prismatic energy exploding outward in a wave that tore through the eldritch tendrils writhing around Greydawn.

The eldritch constructs recoiled, their forms destabilizing as the prismatic energy burned against their unnatural essence. Even Greydawn staggered, his aura flickering as he struggled to maintain control. “You’re stronger than I thought,” Greydawn admitted, his voice laced with grudging respect. “But strength alone isn’t enough.”

Erik’s jaw tightened, his grip on his sword steady. “I’m no one’s experiment.”

“You are a tool forged in desperation, shaped by betrayal. Your father... your family... they were nothing more than pieces on the board. Just like you.” Greydawn said, his voice dripping with mockery.

Erik’s vision narrowed, his focus honing in on Greydawn as the man’s words faded into the background. He let the prismatic energy build within him circulating through his meridians, the power surging like a tidal wave, blinding and unrelenting. His blade gleamed brighter, the colors shifting and blending into a kaleidoscope of light and heat.

With a roar, Erik struck. The force of the blow shattered the air between them, the prismatic energy colliding with Greydawn’s eldritch power in a blinding explosion. The hall trembled, the walls groaning under the strain as the two forces clashed.

When the light faded, Greydawn was on his knees, his aura flickering weakly around him. Erik stood over him, his blade poised for the final strike.

Without a word, Erik raised his arm and with a single stroke swung his blade cleanly through Greydawns neck as if it were an execution. Greydawns head fell eerily down to the floor with a unceremonious thud, Greydawns form slumped over with green ichor oozing out from what was left of Greydawns neck.

The mouth on his hand appeared and its mouth widened, its gaping maw glowing faintly with an unnatural red hue. A violent gust swept through the hall as the eldritch energy was pulled toward him, coalescing into writhing tendrils of shadow that spiraled through the air and out from the bodies of the slain Eldritch that had yet to reanimate.

Erik’s arm trembled under the strain, the demonic hand growing hotter as it devoured the corrupt power. The room grew darker as the last remnants of Greydawn’s influence were torn from the walls, the shadows unraveling into streams of energy that poured into the maw.

The process was agonizingly slow, each second stretching into an eternity. Erik’s breathing grew labored, sweat beading on his brow as the sheer volume of energy pushed against him, fighting for freedom.

“You’re taking too much!” Vesper shouted, her voice edged with panic. “You’ll burn yourself out!”

Erik shook his head, his focus unbroken. “I can handle it,” he said through gritted teeth. The demon’s voice in his mind urged him forward, a dark encouragement that both fueled and unsettled him.

“Good... take it all. Show them what you are capable of..Devour it!”

As the last remnants of the eldritch energy were consumed, the room was left bathed in an eerie stillness. Erik’s hand glowed faintly as he staggered slightly, having absorbed a eldritch core.

But the demon was not silent.

“Ah, Thats the stuff.” it purred, its voice thick with satisfaction. “You know.. This was all very anti-climatic. I thought for sure this guy was going to be some big bad boss.”

Vesper stepped forward, her gaze sharp but cautious. “Are you... okay?” she asked, her tone softer now.

Erik straightened, meeting her eyes with a steady gaze. “Ya im good, I just thought that I would feel differently after killing that thing,” he said, though his voice was heavier than usual. “I just feel worse now. I still dont know where my father is.”

***

The room was unnervingly silent now. The oppressive presence of eldritch energy had been siphoned away, leaving an unnatural clarity in the air. Erik turned slowly, his eyes scanning the Great Hall. Vesper and Berndhardt flanked him, their weapons still drawn, though the threat seemed to have passed. The Governor was huddled in the far corner, his once-commanding figure reduced to a trembling shadow of itself.

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Erik’s gaze settled on him, his expression unreadable. With deliberate steps, he crossed the hall, his boots echoing against the marble floor. The Governor looked up as Erik approached, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear and something else… shame.

“Stay back!” the Governor stammered, his voice hoarse. “I—I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know!”

Erik stopped a few paces away, towering over the man like a specter of judgment. The black and gold of his cloak shimmered faintly in the dim light, the edges still radiating the faint hum of magic. He tilted his head, his voice low and calm, though it carried the weight of his anger.

“Didn’t know what, Governor?” Erik asked, the words cutting through the silence like a blade. “That your son was murdered by your trusted adviser? That I was cast out as a slave for a crime I didn’t commit? Or that your fine house has been crawling with these things for who knows how long?” He gestured sharply toward the spot where Greydawn had fallen, the traces of eldritch energy still faintly lingering in the air.

The Governor flinched, his hands trembling as he clutched the arm of a toppled chair for support. “Lucian... I thought...” His voice cracked, and he looked away, his shoulders shaking. “We all thought you did it, Erik. The evidence, the timing…it all pointed to you. If I’d known... if I’d known it was him, I would have done something. I would have stopped this madness.”

Erik’s jaw tightened, his crimson-tinged eyes narrowing. “Would you?” he asked, his tone laced with quiet venom. “Or would you have ignored the truth as you always have, content to let others suffer while you sat in comfort?”

The Governor’s gaze snapped back to him, a flicker of defiance breaking through his fear. “I didn’t know!” he repeated, his voice rising. “Everything was... clouded. My thoughts, my judgment, none of it felt right. It was like... like I was under some kind of spell.” He hesitated, his breath hitching. “Your father... he was the same.”

At the mention of his father, Erik froze. The calm façade he had been maintaining cracked, and he took a step closer, his voice sharp. “What do you mean?”

The Governor swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. “After... after we cast you out, your father fell ill. The holy healer came; they said it was some kind of corruption, that he needed to be taken east to be healed. I thought it was just grief or guilt, but now...” His voice trailed off, his eyes darting to the scorched floor where Greydawn had stood moments before. “Now I’m not sure of anything.”

“They weren’t illnesses,” Erik said, his voice steady but grim. “They were infestations. The kind these eldritch parasites create. They target influential figures; governors, nobles, anyone with enough power to make their corruption spread. Once they take hold, they manipulate everything around them. They drive towns to ruin, weaken defenses, and prepare the way for more of their kind to infest the area.”

The Governor’s face twisted in horror. “You’re saying... my mind was... infected?”

Erik nodded slowly. “Not just yours. My father’s, too. And Greydawn; he wasn’t just manipulating you. He was feeding the infestation, making sure it thrived. These things don’t just kill. They consume. They reshape everything into something... twisted.”

The Governor collapsed back against the wall, his trembling hands covering his face. “Lucian... your father... everything I’ve done... it’s all been a lie.”

Erik’s eyes softened, just slightly, but his voice remained firm. “It wasn’t all your doing.”

The Governor lowered his hands, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “If I had known the truth, Erik, I swear to you, I would have stopped it. I would have helped you.”

Erik exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting away for a moment. “Maybe. But it’s too late for that now.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of their shared guilt and grief hanging heavy in the air. After a moment, the Governor spoke, his voice quiet but resolute.

“Your father... he’s alive. Or at least, he was when they took him. The healer said they would heal him, but if what you’re saying is true...” His voice faltered. “He’s east of here. Beyond the borderlands, near the ruins of Ancrest. That’s where they took him.”

Berndhardt hefted his axe, his expression grim. “Then we go east. Together.”

The Governor pushed himself to his feet, his movements slow and unsteady. “Erik,” he said, his voice shaking. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, but if there’s anything I can do to help... I owe you that much.”

Erik turned, his eyes sweeping over the Great Hall, the fractured marble, and the lingering marks of eldritch corruption. The weight of the Governor’s words hung in the air, but Erik’s expression remained distant, unreadable.

“Fix this town,” Erik said at last, his voice calm but firm. “It’s in shambles. These people don’t need apologies; they need leadership. They need hope. You owe them that much.”

The Governor nodded quickly, relief flickering across his face. “Of course. I’ll do everything I can. This town will recover, I swear it.”

Erik’s gaze lingered on the Governor for a moment longer, then shifted, growing sharper. “One more thing,” he said, his tone carrying an edge of curiosity. “The vault… are the artifacts and ancient relics still secured?”

The question seemed to catch the Governor off guard. He blinked, then nodded cautiously. “Yes. The vault is intact. I’ve taken every precaution to keep it sealed, though I rarely visit it myself.”

Erik’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good,” he said, stepping forward. “Let’s open it.”

The Governor faltered, his expression a mixture of unease and confusion. “You… you want to open the vault now?”

Erik didn’t wait for a response. His cloak swayed behind him as he strode toward the door that led to his old life, to the place where he had once spent countless hours as a young Lethri, watching over the only magic he’d ever been allowed to touch. Those relics had been his charge, a duty assigned not out of respect but out of necessity; what better caretaker for powerful magic than someone who couldn’t use it?

“Erik, wait!” the Governor called, hurrying to follow. His voice was tinged with both guilt and trepidation. “Are you certain this is wise? Those items—”

“I watched over them for years,” Erik interrupted, his voice calm but resolute. “I know them better than anyone. And if what I suspect is true, they might be the key to understanding what’s happening here; and what’s coming next.”

The Governor hesitated but nodded, his shoulders sagging. “Very well. Follow me.”

The Governor led the way, and Erik followed, his footsteps steady as they descended into the depths of the mansion, toward a place he hadn’t seen in years.

The air grew cooler as they reached the heavy iron doors of the vault. Erik ran his fingers over the intricate carvings etched into the metal symbols of protection, containment, and secrecy. Memories stirred, unbidden, of long days spent cataloging the relics within, of longing for something more, something beyond his Lethri limitations.

The Governor hesitated, fumbling with a ring of keys. “I never thought I’d open this again,” he muttered. “Not after... everything.”

“You’re not the only one who never thought they’d be here,” Erik replied, his tone unreadable. “But times change.”

With a final click, the lock released, and the doors creaked open. The air that spilled out was thick with dust and the faint hum of latent magic. Erik stepped inside, his eyes sweeping over the shelves and pedestals lined with artifacts, their faint glows illuminating the shadowed space.

***

The air inside the vault was thick, humming faintly with magic and the echoes of forgotten power. Erik stepped further into the space, his boots stirring dust that swirled lazily in the dim light. His gaze swept over the rows of artifacts; ancient weapons, shards of relics, and other items that had once been deemed too dangerous or too valuable to leave unsecured.

But he wasn’t here to reminisce.

Erik closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a steady breath. When he opened them again, the crimson glow of his demonic vision flared to life. The room shifted, the mundane shrouded in shadow while the arcane burned bright. Multiple objects scattered across the vault pulsed with red energy, relics tainted by demonic energy, their forms twisting unnaturally beneath his gaze.

As he moved deeper into the vault, Erik’s attention snapped to a cluster of artifacts on a far shelf, their crimson light pulsing like a heartbeat. He recognized some of them: a dagger once rumored to drive men mad, a cracked orb leaking shadowy tendrils, and a mask whose surface writhed as though alive. But his focus shifted quickly, drawn to something else a sharp, unfamiliar presence.

In the corner of the vault, locked within an unassuming chest, a new light gleamed; a radiant blue, bright and unwavering. The color was unlike anything Erik had seen with his demonic vision before. It wasn’t corrupted. It wasn’t eldritch. It was something else entirely.

Aetherian.

The realization hit him like a blow, his pulse quickening as he approached the chest. His footsteps echoed softly in the confined space, the faint hum of the Aetherian energy growing louder with every step. The chest itself was nondescript, its iron fittings rusted and its wood aged, but whatever lay inside was anything but ordinary.

Erik stopped in front of it, his gaze fixed on the faint blue light that seeped through the cracks. His fingers brushed the surface of the chest, his touch hesitant for the first time. The energy pulsing from within felt... alive, almost like it was watching him.

“What is this...?” Erik murmured, his voice barely audible.

The light flared suddenly, blinding in its intensity. Erik staggered back, shielding his eyes as the chest rattled violently, its metal fittings groaning under the strain of whatever force was contained within. A deep, resonant hum filled the vault, vibrating through the very air.

And then, silence.

Erik lowered his arm, his breath caught in his chest as he stared at the now-still box. The blue light continued to glow softly, inviting, yet ominous.

His hand hovered over the latch ready to open the mystery within.